A Song of Ice and Reworks
by EW.11
Summary: SEASON 8 REWORK. The army of the undead have broken through the wall, leaving the North stuck between a hammer and anvil. With the dead to the north, and the Lannisters to the south, how will it play out? Beginning where season 7 left off.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey guys! This is my first take on a Game of Thrones fanfiction so stay with me. Like a lot of you guys, I really wasn't a fan of Season 8, so I decided to rework it, with my own story. It's not great, but I hope you guys enjoy. P.S., Also go check out Preston Jacobs youtube series on this. I got most of my ideas from it and just wanted to give him the credit. **

The wind bit into any path of unexposed skin, and the continuous snowfall made vision an unreliable asset. The three men trudged through the ever-increasing snow, moving south at a snail's pace.

They walked in single file order, each mans face covered with whatever cloth they could spare. The man in front, who was tall and wore an eyepatch stopped and hunched a shoulder to the cold.

"What is it?" Gendry asked, moving in front of Tormund to look over Beric's shoulder. Tormund sniffed the air and shrugged.

"Riders," Beric whispered.

"Dead or alive?" Tormund moved forward and strained his eyes. In the distance, he could spot a column of riders moving toward them.

"Alive," Beric murmured, but still, he drew his sword and moved his hand along its length, igniting the blade.

Gendry was thankful for its warmth, however minimal it may be. He turned his attention to the riders who were now close enough to see clearly. The man in front of the column raised a fist and the riders behind him stopped. The man then cantered toward the party.

As the lone ranger approached, Gendry could see that it wasn't a man at all, instead, a woman. She was tall, and her brown hair solidified her as a northerner. She pulled down the scarf covering her mouth. Gendry could make out the Umber crest on her coat.

"We've come from the north!" Beric raised his voice against the wind.

"The only thing north of here is the Wall," the tall woman said. "You came from the Wall?"

"The Wall has fallen," Beric said mournfully. "Take us to Last Hearth, we wish to speak with Ned Umber."

* * *

A light snow was falling, covering the ground of the godswood in a white blanket. Sansa sat by the Heart Tree, staring into the carved eyes. She forced her gaze upwards, past the red leaves, and into the sky. Patches of blue could be seen, striking the monochromatic grey of the clouds.

When she heard footsteps approaching her, Sansa turned to see Maester Wolkan, his already graying beard dusted with snow. He bowed his head.

"What news?" Sansa asked.

"News of war," Wolkan grieved. "Daenerys' Unsullied and Dothraki have been raiding the Riverlands for supplies. Riverrun and the Twins have been taken, my Lady. Your uncle Edmure has been forced to bend the knee."

Sansa grimaced, without the Riverlands, the Neck could be taken from the south. Still, she held faith in Moat Cailin. "Is there anything else?" she asked.

Wolkan nodded, "Queen Daenerys has defeated Randyll Tarly's forces in the field. Randyll and his son where… executed.

"She is not our queen," Sansa said coldly. "The North will not bend the knee."

"Well, my Lady…" Wolkan hesitated.

"What is it?"

"Jon Snow has bent the knee to Daenerys. They are coming North, and have made unsteady peace with Cersei Lannister."

Sansa sat for a moment, before tilting her head and asking, "Did you say Randyll Tarly has died?"

"Yes, my Lady."

"I need to speak with Samwell."

* * *

The knock came on her door not long after she had returned to the castle. She opened it to reveal Sam, looking nervous. "You wanted to see me, my Lady?"

"Yes," Sansa asserted, "I have news I wish to discuss with you. And please, Sansa is fine." She gestured to a seat.

Sam nodded and crossed the room to take a seat at her desk. "What is it, my La- Sansa." He flushed red, and Sansa almost laughed, then remembered what she had called him to discuss. She swallowed and forced her eyes to meet Sam's.

"Sam…" Sansa hesitated, then righted her posture and eased her mind. "Your father, Randyll Tarly, and your brother, Dickon, have been killed."

Sam chuckled nervously, unsure if he had heard her correctly or not. "W-What?'

Sansa nodded, and the color drained from the boy's face. "Dickon…" Sam muttered. "How did it happen?" he asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer.

Sansa's face turned stony. "They were executed. By Daenerys. My uncle, Edmure Tully, has been captured. I'm sorry, Sam." Feigning her sympathy wasn't hard, especially when Lord Baelish had taught her so well.

Sam sat for a moment without saying anything. Sansa took this as an opportunity. "With the destruction of house Tyrell, what is the most powerful family in the Reach?"

Sam hesitated, fiddling with his thumbs. "Houses Fossoway, Hightower, Florent… and house Tarly."

"And house Tarly is your father's house… house Florent is your mother, and house Fossoway your sisters. And then house Hightower, famed patrons of the Citadel, where you trained to become a maester. It seems that you, Samwell Tarly, have become one of the most powerful men in Westeros."

* * *

By the time the walls of Winterfell had come into view, Jon had already been resisting the urge to ride ahead, as fast as he could, to return home. Now that he was so close, he had to outright fight himself and ride with the column.

Dany sat atop her horse to his right, and to her right, rode Ser Jorah Mormont, the rest of the soldiers marching behind them. As they rode through the open doors, the men and women of the North bent their knees to the cold ground.

Jon dismounted his horse. "Rise," he said and scanned the crowd. He found where Sansa stood alongside Arya, but could not find Bran. He rushed over to Arya, who hugged him fiercely.

He pulled away from her and smiled. "Where have you been?"

"I fled to Dorne," she lied quickly. "I've been traveling with a group of traveling acrobats." For the first time in a long time, Arya felt shame for lying to Jon. A lie would have left her with no ill feelings if she had been lying to anyone else, but not to Jon. Jon had always been kind to her, and the shame and regret of her time with the Faceless Men wasn't something she wanted to discuss.

Jon narrowed his eyes at the small girl, skeptical. He sighed and pushed it out of his mind, relieved that she was safe. "You still have Needle," he smiled and pointed to the sword on her belt. "Have you been practicing?"

Arya nodded. "I'm ready to fight."

Jon chuckled. " I hope you are."

He moved to Sansa, with Dany coming to his side and Ser Jorah to hers. "Sansa," he said, and she pulled him into a hug. Sansa then turned to Dany. Jon bit his lip, expecting Sansa to be cold, but was surprised when she smiled warmly and shook Dany's hand.

"It's good to finally meet you, my Lady," said Sansa, artificially kind.

"Your Grace," Dany corrects. A smile was apparent on her face, but Jon could find no trace of kindness in her eyes.

Sansa bowed, "Of course, my apologies."

"Jon." Standing to Sansa's right was Sam and Gilly, with little Sam clutched in the young mother's arms.

Jon moved to his friend before hugging him, delighted. "Dany," Jon said, turning back to his queen. "This is Samwell Tarly."

Dany looks at Sam, and Sam looks at Dany. She didn't smile, an awkward knowing stands between them. "Sam Tarly of Horn Hill?" Dany asked.

Sam stared at her, without a smile. "Yes, my Queen." He said at last.

Jorah turns to Dany. "This was the man who saved my life at the Citadel."

Dany nodded and turned back to Sam. "Thank you for saving my Jorah, I owe you a great debt."

Sam said nothing.

Jon turned back to Sansa. "Where's Bran?" he asked.

"He's in the godswood," she responded. "He's watching whatever it is he watches."

Jon nodded, "I'll go find him." Dany started to follow him before he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Just me," he said.

* * *

He found Bran sitting by the Heart Tree, his eyes white from warging. When Jon approached, Bran's eye's returned to normal. The cripple boy smiled at Jon, and Jon smiled back.

"It's been ages since we were last together, here in Winterfell."

Bran turned his wheelchair to face Jon. "Actually, I saw you at Craster's Keep, when I was going north of the Wall. At Queen's Crown Tower too. The wolf that saved you from the wildlings. That was me."

Jon was shocked. "Why didn't you talk to me?"

"I couldn't. I needed to become the Three-Eyed Raven."

"Are you a skin-changer?" Jon asked skeptically.

"I'm more," Bran said. "I'm a green-seer, the Three-Eyed Raven. I've been watching you, Jon. I saw you at Hardhome, fighting the white walkers. I saw you at Castle Black, murdered by your comrades. I've seen your past, Jon. I've seen who you truly are."

Jon looked at Bran, questioningly. "What do you mean? 'Who I truly am.'"

"My father was not your father. Your father was Rhaegar Targaryen. Your mother was Lyanna Stark. You are Aegon Targaryen III, rightful heir to the Iron Throne."

**A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed that chapter. In case you didn't notice, I'm trying to make Sansa a little more like Littlefinger, just cuz. Also trying to make Bran less like a robot and give him some emotion. The changes in the story aren't that big yet, but trust me, it gets totally different. Well, anyway, another chapter will be coming soon.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Well I'm back with another chapter of my scrutinous rework of the befuddlement that was season eight. Not really much to say here, but I'll speak some more after at the end of this chapter, hope you enjoy!**

He gasped, but couldn't seem to take in any air. In front of him, Bran sat, stony-faced and knowing.

A leaf from the Heart Tree fell, swirling in the air before falling to the frozen ground. Jon brought a hand up to rub his temple. How could he be a Targaryen? Eddard Stark had been his father, and his mother had been a common whore. Why would the noble Eddard Stark lie?

"Eddard Stark wanted to protect you, his own nephew," Bran said as if he knew what Jon had been thinking.

"Protect me from what?" Jon asked. He bent over and picked up the fallen leaf, then crumpled it in his gloved hand.

"He knew that Robert would never let an heir to the Iron Throne live, even if that meant killing a baby."

Before Jon could respond, they were interrupted by a panicked Sansa. "What is it?" Jon asked, concerned.

"It's news from Last Hearth," Bran said. Jon looked to Sansa, who nodded, confirming what Bran had stated.

* * *

The war room had been fashioned from the late Eddard Stark's study. In the middle of the room, a map of Westeros was rolled onto a table. It seemed as though Jon and Bran where the last to arrive.

Around the table stood Sansa, Arya, Sam, Dany, Ser Davos, Varys, Tyrion, Brienne, Ser Jorah, Grey Worm, and a gaggle of other nobles. Standing against the opposite wall and off to the side was Podrick Payne.

"Is this everyone?" Ser Davos inquired. Bran gave a quick nod and Davos continued. "The survivors from Eastwatch have arrived at the Last Hearth," Davos explained. "They say that the Wall has fallen, and the dead are marching south."

"How can the Wall fall? It's stood guard for thousands of years." This was Lord Yohn Royce, commander of the knights of the Vale.

"Beric Dondarrion claims that it was a dragon. A dead dragon."

A sharp intake of breath and the room was silent. All eyes were on Dany while she stared at the little castle of Winterfell on the map. She could feel tears welling in her eyes, but she blinked hard and they were gone. "Viserion," she whispered.

Tyrion stepped forward. "We need to call the Stark bannerman to Winterfell, for its defense. The Night's Watch as well. If the survivors from Eastwatch have made to the Last Hearth, then the dead must be close by. Assuming they're on foot, we should have a fortnight to make preparations."

Sansa nodded in agreement. "Send ravens to every house not here. Tell them that Winterfell is where we make our stand," she says to Maester Wolkan, who nodded and leaves the room.

"We must also warn King's Landing," Tyrion continues. "Peace has already been made for the moment, and we need the support of the Lannister army."

"And what about the actual defense of Winterfell?" Asked Varys. "How do we beat back the army of the dead?"

Tyrion thought for a moment, then pointed to another map, this one of Winterfell in the center, and small white blocks on the north-east side, to replicate the Night King's army. He pointed to the small opening that marked Winterfell's northern gate. "The Unsullied," he gestured to Grey Worm, who nodded, "will be the primary defense. They'll be stationed here, at the main gate. The Dothraki will ride out behind the army for a sort of hammer and anvil strategy. Hopefully, we can-"

"No, Tyrion." Tyrion is silenced mid-sentence when Bran raises his hand, cutting the dwarf off. "A series of walls and trenches need to be dug outside of the main gate, and around it too. The dead will bunch up on each barrier, making them easy targets for our trebuchets and dragon fire." He looked at Dany, who nodded shakily. "Any dead that will make it through the barricade can be dealt with by the Dothraki coming in from the sides for quick attacks," Bran explains. "The Unsullied will guard the trebuchets and scorpions, but if they fall, everyone will retreat back into Winterfell. Here, the Wildlings, Northerners, and Vale Knights will toss down the burning pitch."

"And what if the walls are breached?" Asked Jorah.

"Then we retreat," Bran responded immediately. "Make for the ships on the White Knife and sail south to White Harbor, and then to Moat Cailin."

"And what about the dragon?" Arya asked. "The dead one."

"In the past," Bran said, "the only thing that has countered dragons are scorpions, and other dragons. We have two, and they have one, so perhaps that's an advantage for us."

The war room broke, and everyone started to filter out. Before Varys can leave, he is stopped by Ser Jorah.

"Lord Varys," Jorah said.

"Jorah Mormont," Varys bowed his head respectfully. "We haven't really gotten a chance to speak since your return."

"Have you been avoiding me?" Jorah asks.

Varys offered a small smile. "They do say that greyscale is highly contagious."

Jorah ignored the spider's jest. "Have you spoken with Magister Illyrio? Will he be providing assistance?"

"Illyrio has stopped speaking to me." Varys chuckled. "His support for the Targaryen cause was based on the hope that Viserys would become king and legalize the slave trade in Westeros, thus fulling his pockets. And with Daenerys, our merchant friend held out some hope of a favorable trading relationship. But now our queen has utterly destroyed slavery. Not just in Slaver's Bay, but the entire world. There are no Dothraki to bring their spoils to the Free Cities, and Volantis is on the brink of revolution, thanks to Red Zealots who worship our queen. It's been very bad for business."

Jorah narrowed his eyes at Varys. "And why do you still support the Targaryens?"

"Why, Ser Jorah, for the Realm, of course."

"You may fool others, spider, but Viserys Targaryen was my king for half a year. No man could believe that his rule would be benevolent."  
"I disagree," Varys said. "His Grace was a delightfully weak-willed man. Easily distracted and easily manipulated. Sadly, you failing in your knightly vows to protect him. As Hand and Lord Commander, we could have shaped him to be the greatest ruler in history."

"And Daenerys?" Jorah asked. "You wish to shape her too?"

"To be frank, I have little hope. Her Grace listens to fewer and fewer these days. Certainly not me. You still have her ear, of which, you may be surprised to hear, but I am very thankful. And there is one other."

"Tyrion?" Jorah guessed.

Varys chuckled again. "No, no. Not Tyrion."

* * *

In King's Landing, Cersei Lannister stood atop her balcony, overlooking the Red Keep, and the city beyond.

"Your Grace." Cersei turned to find Qyburn, her Hand and Master of Whispers.

"What is it?" She asked, turning back to the view.

Qyburn hesitated. "We have received a raven from Winterfell, your Grace. The Starks report that the Wall has fallen. The army of the dead is now marching south."

Cersei tried not to grin. She looked over across the Blackwater and made a note of the approaching ships. Euron's ships, escorting her Golden Company.

* * *

On the deck of The Silence, Euron stood near the bow, next to Harry Strickland. When King's Landing came into view, Euron walked below deck, to find Yara Greyjoy, tied to a post.

"Hello, my niece," Euron said, pouring himself a glass of wine and crouching down next to the battered Yara.

Yara swallowed hard and resisted the urge to kick out at her uncle. She didn't respond to his greeting, only glared at him.

Euron put his hands up in defense. "What're you glaring at me for?" he jested.

"Why are you teaming up with Cersei? Why are you going along with the Lannisters when the dead march?" Yara asked, putting emphasis on _Lannister_.

Euron laughs. "You think the world ends with ice?" He looked his niece in the eye. "No, stupid girl, the world ends in fire. I've seen it."

"What are you talking about?"  
Euron grinned. "Do you know where I first heard about Daenerys Targaryen? Qarth. I'd returned from the Jade Sea and the city was in chaos. Some dragon queen had come through town, but everyone I asked didn't have an answer for me. The Thirteen were dead, the house of the Undying was in ruins, so I sought out the wisest woman in Qarth, but she refused to talk. At first."

Euron stood, and moved over to his personal desk, where he rummaged for something, He seemed to find what he was looking for because when he turned around, he was holding a mask, ornamented in gold scales over red cloth. The mask of Quaithe.

"Before she died screaming," Euron said, showing Yara the mask. "She had tales to tell about Daenerys Stormborn. Did you know that half the world thinks that she's Azor Ahai reborn? The delusion of that stupid red cult. I've seen the truth," Euron continued. "She's not the world's savior, she's the world's doom. And to think that you wanted to make doom your queen." Euron laughed again. "I wanted to get close to her," he remarked. "I wanted to strangle her myself. Plus, who wouldn't want to fuck the Dragon Queen." His laughter was a quick bark, and Yara grimaced. "And plus, someone needs to rule the world that will rise from the ashes she creates."

He stood again and moved to his desk once more. He picked up another bottle of wine, not the same one he had been drinking from moments earlier. "Have you ever heard of Shade of the Evening? It was the drink of the warlocks of Qarth, exclusive to their order and a closely guarded secret. But their charred bones didn't seem to object to me taking a cask from their house. I want you to see what I see."

Euron grabbed Yara's chin, and when she jerked her head away, he slapped her. "Open up," he said as he uncorked the wine and began to pour it down Yara's throat. "Now," Euron stood again and fixed his coat. "I have an engagement to attend."

Euron left the room just as Yara's vision began to blur.

* * *

Yara stood in the throne room in King's Landing. The ceiling was in crumbling destruction, and the ground was covered in a thin layer of snow. A solitary figure stood in the middle of the room: Daenerys. She walked slowly to the Iron Throne and placed a hand on the cold steel of melted swords.

Then Yara is outside, on the streets of King's Landing. All around her, soldiers in red and grey cloaks alike ran for the cover of buildings. From the sky came fire, destroying buildings and torching anyone unfortunate enough to be in the way. The fire passed over Yara, and the vision changed.

She now stood among ashes. The air was grey with ash and dust, and Yara could see the charred remains of people buried beneath the rubble.

Yara jerked awake, covered in cold sweat. Her head was drumming and she felt as though she might pass out at any moment.

The sky was dark, and she was no longer inside Euron's cabin. She was tied to the bow of the Silence.

* * *

In the Red Keep, Cersei sat with Euron, Qyburn, and Harry Strickland in her own war room. They sat around in the Small Council chambers, where she had once sat in place of her late son, Joffrey.

"Qyburn," Cersei said. "Send a raven to Winterfell. Tell them that our forces march north."

Qyburn looked as Cersei skeptically, confusion obvious on his features. "Will they?" He asked the queen.

"As far as Moat Cailin and the Neck," Cersei orders. "But no further. If Daenerys wins, we will have to strike quickly against her before she has time to recover."

"And if she loses?" Asked Harry Strickland. "What will we do then?"

"The land is as good as any to make our stand," Cersei said. "The land is nothing but marshes. If the dead choose to go through the marsh, then they will sink. Most likely, they will bottle up on the Kingsroad. We'll do our best to make the Kingsroad unpassable."

"And the Iron Fleet?" Euron asked.

"I want you to guard the Dragon Queen's escape by sea. Stay in White Harbour and sink any ship that tries to leave. Your ships will be armed with scorpions, to deal with her dragons." She turned to Harry Strickland. "Ser Harry, I saw your army disembark. What of my elephants?"

"The Iron Fleet did not have the capacity to ferry the Golden Company with their elephants in a single trip. A second trip is needed."

Cersei narrowed her eyes, obviously agitated by the news. "The Iron Fleet is needed in White Harbor." She turned to Euron. "Split your forces. Half will stay in White Harbor, and half will retrieve my elephants."

"Yes, my queen."

The council disbands, and Harry and Qyburn leave, leaving only Euron and Cersei. He approached her slowly, expressing concern about her plan. "My Queen," he started. "Is it wise to split the forces? Are the elephants really needed? Destroying Daenerys' fleet without dragons is one thing, but going ship to dragon feels like suicide. They say I'm mad, but I'm not that mad."

"We must destroy Daenerys and the Starks completely, utterly. There is too much bad blood, too much history to trust our foes in the North. Sooner or later, they will destroy us. My daughter Myrcella was murdered for a crime nearly two decades old. Joffrey for crimes hypothetical. Daenerys will want justice for Rhaegar's children, the Starks for their parents and siblings. I didn't have anything to do with any of those crimes, but my house is still Lannister. Those forces in the North mean death as much as the army of the dead." She faked a pout and cast a gaze out an adjacent window. "I need you to protect me, Euron," she lied. "To protect our child."

Euron raised his eyebrows. "Our child?" he asked, surprised at the prospect.

**A/N: Well that's going to do it for this chapter, hope y'all enjoyed. I'm trying to establish Bran as being the best leader because I think it ties in well with his character. I'm also trying to go somewhere with a Yara plot, so hang with me. Well, I'll update as soon as I can, but until then, peace.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: What's popping y'all? I'm back with another chapter, and I hope you guys will enjoy this one. You guys really seem to enjoy the story so far, and I love reading the reviews, which actually motivate me to do these chapters so frequently. **

**P.S. I know that there are some mistakes in these chapters that slip past me, so I was wondering if anyone wanted to proofread for me? If you're interested, just send me a private message and I'll respond when I can.**

The boat cut through the darkness of Blackwater bay, making it's way silently to the armada docked nearby. The lights of King's Landing could be seen high above, the Red Keep standing out against the darkness.

Theon looked to his left to where another boat sailed with him. He nodded to the man at the wheel, who nodded back. Theon did the same to the boat on his right. The boats were small but could transport men quickly and quietly, and Theon hoped to stay away from naval combat tonight.

As the dreaded Silence drew ever closer, Theon took a walk around the deck, checking on the Iron Born who had stayed loyal to himself and Yara. He stopped at his second in command, a burly man by the name of Dagon, a veteran of dozens of battles, and a fierce warrior.

"Are the men ready?" Theon whispered.

The man gave a grunt and nodded. "That bastard uncle of your's couldn't have left too many men on that boat. We get your sister, then we get out."

"That's the plan," Theon responded.

"What is dead may never die," Dagon whispered huskily.

"What is dead may never die," Theon agreed.

As they approached, Theon made note of some light emanating from the warship and saw a man dozing on the deck. The trio of boats stopped alongside the Silence.

"Everyone goes up," Theon ordered, not having any intention of getting back onto the skiffs. "Let's get our queen."

Varys had been right, Euron had taken most of his men ashore. The deck was mostly barren, except a couple of men leaning over the side. Theon could hear more of them below, drinking and singing. He had only taken twenty men, just enough to commandeer the Silence without making too much noise.

He rushed up the makeshift bridge that now connected the two boats, and he could see more men doing the same from the other boats. Theon clambered onto the deck, with Dagon right behind him. The soldiers on the other side of the Silence turned around, gazed at the intruding Ironborn before hollering for backup.

Theon darted forward, ramming the point of his sword through the throat of one man. Blood spurted onto his face, and the man's cry was cut short.

Before the soldier to his side could make any move, Dagon's battle ax crushed through the mettle plaiting on his shoulder. The man crumpled under the blow.

It was too late, though. More men were rushing onto the deck. Too many, Theon thought. More than he had expected.

"What is dead may never die!" Theon yelled and charged the men, his Ironbord following behind him. He barreled the first man to arrive on the deck in the chest, throwing him backward. He hit the ground, and Theon drove his sword through the iron plaiting on his chest.

Another soldier swung his sword at Theon. He jumped out of the way, and the blade dug into the wooden deck. As the man struggled to wedge his sword free, Theon swung his own blade, tearing at the man's throat.

The sword of another attacker slipped past his guard and struck Theon in the head. The flat of the blade crashed into his helm, and sent him to the floor, his vision spinning. He struggled to rise, but the man's sword came down again.

Theon raised his arm to protect himself and barely felt it when the sword cut into his forearm. Still, Theon cried out and kicked his attacker's knee, which gave a sickening crunch, and the man toppled to the deck, crying out. Theon rose and drove the point of his sword through the man's heart.

He looked around. The enemy was defeated. "What is dead may never die!" His men echoed Theon's earlier shout.

Theon moved to the bow of the Silence, and found his sister, beaten, bloody, and tied up. His arm began to throb painfully, his adrenaline wearing off.

Yara's eyes flitted open as he approached. She smiled weakly. "Came to save me?" She asked, bitterly.

Theon stared at his feet, remembering how he had jumped over the side of his own ship instead of saving her. He forced himself to look into her eyes. "Let's get you down." He cut her loose.

Yara rubbed her wrists for a moment, looked at her brother, and punched him. Theon staggered back. He spat onto the deck and wiped his mouth. "What was that for?" He asked, a little too loudly, even though he already knew the answer.

"For leaving me," she shot back. They looked at each other for a moment, then Yara hugged her brother. "And that's for saving me."

Theon smiled and nodded. He turned to Dagon. "Lower the sails," he ordered. "We're going back to Winterfell."

"No," Yara interrupted.

Theon turned to his sister, incredulous. "What do you mean, _no_?"

"I mean, we're not going to Winterfell. Not yet, at least. I am your queen, and you will obey me." She bent over the body of a fallen enemy and picked up his sword.

"Then where are we going?" Theon asked.

She turned to Dagon. "Set sail for Volantis."

* * *

The snow had ceased and the sun had just been beginning to shine when Jon left the walls of Winterfell with Dany. They headed for the hills to the east, staying on the heavily warn path. They were headed nowhere in particular.

"Dany," Jon stopped, and Dany turned to face him. She had been distraught ever since the news had reached Winterfell that her dragon was now being used against the living. She lamented the fact that if Viserion hadn't been killed, then the Wall would still stand, and the army of the dead would have no way into the Seven Kingdoms. Jon knew all of this.

"What is it?" She asked, fingering a loose string of her white coat.

"What happened at the lake wasn't your fault." He wasn't sure of what else he could say to console her, but he desperately wished that he did.

"But if I hadn't taken my dragons north.."

"Then Beric, Tormund, Jorah, the Hound, and I would all be dead," he finished for her. "You saved us all, Dany."

"But what did it cost?" she cried out. "Viserion is dead, and when the Long Night comes we will have to kill him again. He was my child, and it broke my heart to see him die. I don't think I can do that again." Tears were trailing down her cheeks, but she let them. It had been a long time since she had cried.

"Dany..." Jon began.

"We have to win, Jon." Her voice broke, and at that moment, Jon did not see her like a queen, but a mother who had just lost one of her children. She went to him and gripped both of his hands in hers. "We _have _to."

He pulled her closer and kissed her forehead. "We will win, Dany. I promise you." Then he remembered what Bran had told him under the Heart Tree. _Your mother was Lynna Stark, and your father was Rhaegar Targaryen. You're not a bastard. You are Aegon Targaryen, third of his name, and rightful heir to the Iron Throne. _

"How do you deal with it?" Dany asked him. "Losing someone you love, I mean."

Jon hesitated. "I just think of what they would have wanted me to do, and continue on with my mission." It was a stupid answer, but it was a true answer.

She wiped her eyes the sleeve of her coat. "Who have you lost?"

He thought back. "It's a long list," he admitted. "My father, my two brothers, Lord Commander Mormont, Pip, Grenn, Ollie….. Ygritte."

Dany raised her eyebrows. "Ygritte? Who's she?"

"Who said it was a she?" Jon asked.

Dany shrugged. "The way you said it."

Jon sighed. "She was a Wildling girl. My first. She questioned everything I thought and believed. Told me I knew nothing." He chuckled. "And she was right, more often than not. She taught me that the north, the true north, was a beautiful place. She taught me about the Free Folk. It's funny. I missed Winterfell for so long, but down south, there are so many problems. The Northerners are angry I bent the knee, there's Cersei Lannister and the Greyjoys. Everyone is obsessed with titles and fealty. I guess I miss the freedom of the North, the simplicity of it all. I understand now why Mance would not kneel."

"Mance?"

Jon chuckled again. "Nobody."

Dany strode to the top of the bluff, before turning back to look at Jon. "It will all be simple again. When I am queen, everything will be right. Especially when you are my king."

_You are Aegon Targaryen, third of his name, and rightful heir to the Iron Throne. _

"Dany…" Jon said.

"Yes?"

He walked to her and took her hands in his. "My father was not Eddard Stark."

Dany raised her eyebrows and looked at him inquisitively. "What do you mean?"

He looked into her purple eyes. "My father," he said. "My _real _father was your brother. Rhaegar Targaryen. My mother was Lyanna Stark. Bran told me."

She stared at him for a moment. Jon had expected her to cry, scream at him, or something much worse. He did not expect what actually happened.

Dany laughed. "This is wonderful!" she exclaimed. "After my brother died, I thought I was alone."

"And you aren't concerned about me being… your nephew?" Jon asked.

"Growing up," Dany said. "I always thought that Viserys would be my husband. After he died, I thought that I would marry for power, but now…" She stopped when she saw the look on his face. "These types of marriages don't happen in the North?"

"Not really…" Jon muttered. "Dany, just… can you keep this between us for now?"

She nodded.

Both of them turned when the sound of someone approaching via horse interrupted them. "Your Grace," said Davos. He nodded his head and turned to Jon. "Someone's been picked up some twenty miles away."

"Who is it?" Jon asked.

"It's the Kingslayer."

* * *

Even though the Great Hall was lit with a dozen fires, it still felt cold to Jaime. Maybe that was because he was in enemy territory, or just because he hadn't been in the North for quite some time now. It didn't matter.

He stood in the middle fo the Great Hall. In front of him, seated at the head table was Sansa Stark, along with her half brother Jon Snow, and their queen, Daenerys. A gaggle of others stood along the sides, staring at Jaime.

"Kingslayer," Sansa greeted.

"Lady Stark," Jaime bowed his head.

"Why are you here Kingslayer?" This was Dany. The room grew still. It wasn't forgotten that Jaime had killed her father. He bit his lip nervously.

He gestured to everyone around him. "To fight for the side of the living," he stated obviously.

A murmur went through the crowd. Dany leaned forward. "You've already established what kind of follower you are. You betrayed my father when he needed you most. You stabbed him in the back when you saw that you would not win. That's not the kind of man that I want fighting for me."

Jaime had known that was coming, from the moment that he had left King's Landing. He also knew how he would have responded. "I didn't kill your father because it benefitted me. I didn't kill your father because we were going to lose. I killed Aerys Targaryen because he was mad. It was either him or the millions of people living in King' Landing."

Another murmur through the crowd. Dany raised her eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

Jaime shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Wildfire. The Mad King was obsessed with it. He loved to watch people burn. He burned lords he didn't like, he burned Hands who disobeyed him. Pretty much, he burned anyone that was against him. Before long, half the country was against him." Jaime paused and looked to the side of the room, where Brienne the Beauty stood. She was staring at him intently, and Jaime knew why. He had told her this exact story, word for word, before. "Aerys saw traitors everywhere, so he had his pyromancer place caches of wildfire all over the city. Beneath the Sept of Baelor, in the slums of Flea Bottom. Under houses, stables, and taverns. Even beneath the Red Keep itself." He looked at the dragon queen, and she looked back at him. "Finally," he continued. "The day of reckoning came. Robert Baratheon marched to King's Landing from the Trident, but my father got there first, with the whole Lannister army at his back. He promised to defend the city against the rebels. I knew my father better than that though." Jaime chuckled. "He was never one to pick the losing side. I told Aerys as much. I urged him to surrender peacefully. But the king didn't listen to me, didn't listen to anyone who tried to warn him. But he did listen to Grand Maester Pycelle. 'You can trust the Lannisters,' he said. 'The Lannisters have always been true friends of the crown.'" Jaime scoffed. "So, we opened the gates, and my father sacked the city. And again, I went to the king, begging him to surrender. He told me to bring him my father's head. Then he turned to his pyromancer. 'Burn them all,' he said to him. 'Burn them in their homes, burn them in their beds.' Now tell me, if you were told to kill your father and stand by as millions of men, women, and children burned alive, would you have done it? Would you have kept your oath then? I know that I broke my oath, but at the same time, I reckon I was keeping a much bigger promise. Maybe it was to the Mother, to protect innocents, but it seemed even greater. I kept my oath to the living, the same oath I've come here to keep."

The entire court was silent as Jaime finished his story. When he finished, he looked to Brienne again, and she nodded.

"And how can I be sure that you are not one of Cersei's spies?" Dany asked suspiciously. She had to admit, even Jaime's story had rocked her to the core, but she could not let anyone see that. She turned to Varys. "Is it true? What the Kingslayer proclaims."

Varys hesitated before speaking. "The Targaryens produced wildfire, yes. As did the Lannisters for the Battle on the Blackwater, it was a common battle tactic after the death of dragons. However, I knew of no plans to destroy the city."

"Ser Jaime," Sansa interjected. "You attacked my father on the streets of King's Landing shortly before he was executed, did you not?"

"Eddard Stark ordered the unjust arrest of my brother and put him on trial in the Eyrie." Jaime rebuked. "It nearly got him killed."

"My father would never make such an order."

"Lord Petyr Baelish was there, why don't we just ask him?" Jaime asked.

"Littlefinger has been executed," Sansa admitted.

"I see," Jamie said. "If you reward the man who brought you thousands of knights from the Vale with an execution, what hope do I have." I laughed, albeit nervously. "I've only brought you one knight, and a crippled one at that." He raised his golden hand.

Dany looked around the room. "There looks to be nobody who can prove your validity, Ser Jaime."

Jaime shrugged. "What shall be done? I would demand a trial by combat, but they've been banned. Is there a counsel of Septoms here in the North?" He quipped.

Dany thought for a moment before speaking. "There will be a trial by combat," she revealed. When the dead march, I want you in my army. I hope that your one hand can serve you well."

**A/N: So that's that chapter done. I had originally put Jaime on the counsel of war accidentally in chapter 2, which was an oopsie. Also, I'm trying to build more of a Yara plot, and you'll just have to wait to see where that goes. I know that for Jaime's speech at the end, I nabbed most of it from Season 3, Episode 5 when he reveals everything to Brienne, but I thought it suited the story nicely. One last thing, I'm bringing up anyone that is interested in proofreading chapters from now on, I would be extremely thankful, just be sure to drop a PM. Anyway, I'll come back with a new chapter as soon as I can. In the meantime, I love reading everyone's reviews so be sure to leave some :) Stay tuned for more!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Welcome back to my not-so-original fanfiction of what I think Season 8 of Game of Thrones should have been! You guys seem to be enjoying it, so here's another chapter.**

**P.S. Still looking for someone who can proofread!**

The last of Queen Daenerys' army had arrived earlier that morning. These were the men that would fight off the army of the dead. Among these new arrivals where Sandor Clegane, riding a massive black destrier.

Jon stood on a rise overlooking the keep and all of his men. Beside him were Dany, dressed in thick, white furs, Davos, an Bran, who's eyes were white from warging. Jon waited until he came back, not wanting to interrupt him

"Was that the last of them?" Jon asked when Bran's eyes returned to their normal brown.

Bran nodded. "The Umbers are coming as we speak. I haven't seen any others."

Dany turned to the cripple boy. "No Lannister's?" she asked.

"They marched North, but not past the Neck," Bran replied. "They're holding up in Moat Cailin."

"So they are not coming to our aid?" Dany furrowed her eyebrows. "We should never have trusted the Lannisters."

Jon sighed. "The causeway can be slow going," he guessed, trying to think of some other reason that the Lannister forces could not march North. When nothing else came, Bran concluded that the Lannister army would not be joining them.

Davos flexed his shortened fingers and look out over the battlements. "It seems the golden queen wants to kick us while we're down after we've defeated the dead."

"And if we don't defeat the dead?" Dany asked, to no response.

* * *

Down in the training yard, Jaime readjusted his left-handed grip on his training sword. His actual sword, Oathkeeper, sat in its ornate sheath in his private quarters. The sword was Valyrian Steel, one of two swords forged from the greatsword of the Starks, Ice. The training swords was dulled on its edge and point, to prevent tilting injuries, but they still left bruises.

Opposite him, Brienne stood with her own training sword. They rounded each other, waiting for the other to make the first move. When nobody did, Jaime took the initiative.

He darted his eyes to the left but moved to his right. He jabbed his sword at Brienne, who had seen the attack coming and parried it effortlessly. Jaime swung at her again. When she went to block his attack, he quickly jerked his sword upward, tapping her on her arm.

Jaime backed off again, and they began to circle again. "You're getting better with your left hand," Brienne stated, keeping her eyes on his sword.

"Glad to hear," Jaime smirked.

"You're almost passable," Brienne swung her sword at him, which he blocked, surprising her. Jaime darted around her and tapped her on the shoulder with his sword.

"In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave," he mumbled quickly, under his breath. He turned back to face his opponent.

"What was that?" Brienne asked.

"Just a cough," Jaime said and swung his sword at her again. She blocked it and brought her own sword up to slash at his chest. He barely got out of the way but lost his balance doing so.

She jabbed at him, but he had already righted himself. He knocked her sword to the side, and danced around her, scoring another tap on her opposite shoulder.

"In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just." He said the words as quickly and quietly as he could.

"What are you doing?" Brienne asked, annoyed. She dropped her sword, signaling that their dual was done.

Jaime took advantage of her and tapped her again on the other shoulder. "I'm knighting you," he stated matter-of-factly. "I'm about to die on the front lines of battle without ever knighting someone. Well, anyone of value that is. Being the first person to knight a woman," he grinned. "That would be something on the pages of that book besides Kingslayer." And almost as he had forgotten, he added, "Oh, and in the name of the Mother, I charge you to protect the innocent."

"I don't want to be knighted," Brienne said.

"Oh," Jaime said. "But I think you do." He tapped her on the opposite shoulder for the fourth time. "In the name of the Maid, I charge you to protect all women."

"What makes you say that?" Brienne asked, trying to stay annoyed.

"Because," Jaime said, and swung at her again, only to be blocked when Brienne retrieved her fallen sword. She swung at him hard, and he just barely dodged the blow. They swung at each other, back and forth, until a small crowd had begun to gather around the pair. Eventually, Brienne slipped up, earning Jaime another tap on her shoulder.

"In the name of the Crone, I charge you to act with wisdom. Because," he continued. "You're a better fighter than me. Better than me left-handed, better than me with my hands tied, and probably better than me with my good hand. And yet," he grinned again. "I've scored five hits on you. One more, and you're a knight. That tells me something. You want a knighthood, and you want it enough to lose a fight against a cripple."

That set Brienne off, as Jaime had guessed. She charged at him, but he easily dodged her attack. They continued for a moment longer, drawing in more spectators. Finally, Jaime lunged at Brienne, who saw the attack coming and knocked his sword out of his hand. The training sword fell into the snow, and Jaime raised his hands. Then something caught his eye.

He pointed to a spot behind Brienne. "Is that… Is that Renly?" he asked, incredulous. Brienne turned to look, as Jaime knew she would, and he punched her, with his golden hand.

Brienne went down hard, and Jaime retrieved his fallen sword. He stood over her and tapped her on the shoulder. "In the name of the Smith, I charge you to bring fellowship to men. Rise, Ser Brienne of Tarth, a Knight of the Seven Kingdoms."

* * *

When the horns blew to signify the arrival of men from the Last Hearth, everyone in the tilting yard dropped their weapons and headed for the main gate of Winterfell.

Arya climbed on top of a wagon to see over the heads of the people in front of her. Riding through the gate, the Umber men were few and looked weary. Arya spotted Gendry, and Jon's friend Tormund, but was more focused on Beric Dondarrion.

"Cersei Lannister," she whispered. "Illyn Payne, the Mountain, the Red Woman," and finally, "Beric Dondarrion." Her list was growing short, which meant she had been doing her job.

Tormund greeted Jon with a bone-crushing hug, and the two laughed. "I wasn't sure if you would make it," Jon said, clapping the Wildling on the shoulder.

"We were close," Tormund said. "The army of the dead march only a day behind us."

"Half a day." Both turned to find Bran in his wheelchair. Jon nodded grimly.

"How many of them are there?" Jon asked his half brother.

Bran shrugged. "I don't know. A storm surrounds them. The wind blows my ravens away if they get too close. I feel him though, the Night King. He's coming for me."

Beric and Gendry dismounted their horses, and moved to the keep itself, with Arya trailing behind them. Gendry turned into an adjacent room, and choosing vengeance over seeing her old friend, Arya followed Beric.

Before Arya could get any closer, though, a mailed hand grabbed her from behind and slammed her against the cold stone. "Where are you going?" Sandor Clegane's raspy voice demanded of her.

"Nowhere," she responded, pushing the Hound away from her.

His laugh was like iron scraping over a stone. "You think I don't remember your little list?" he asked her. "My brother and I, the headsman, the king's guard and the queen, the old man at the crossing, Stannis' witch. And him." The Hound gestured to Beric, who was almost out of sight.

When Arya didn't respond, the Hound ground his teeth. "Well, he's off your list."

"Why?"

"Because I fucking said so," the Hound spat. "If he dies, you die."

Arya shrugged. "Maybe I should put you back on my list."

"You don't get it, little girl. I've seen what's coming. We're all on a list."

* * *

Samwell Tarly moved through the crowd, carrying a sword. He seldom used a weapon, knowing he wasn't any good with any sort. This sword was not for him, though.

When he finally found who he was looking for, Sam was out of breath and panting.

"Ser Jorah," Sam said. "I heard you were leading the Dothraki and the cavalry out in the sorties."

"That I am," Jorah said, fastening his belt.

Sam hesitated and looked back down at the sword he held. "I thought that you could use this." He pushed the sword into the older man's hands. "It's called Heartsbane. It's Valyrian steel. It used to be my father's sword."

Jorah looked puzzled. "But won't you need it?"

Sam chuckled nervously. "I'll be on the battlements, with burning pitch. I'm no good with a sword."

"Thank you, Samwell," Jorah said, taking the blade. He loosened it out of the sheath and gazed at the metal, folded back on itself again and again. "I'll wield it in your father's honor." When Sam sighed, Jorah asked, "What is it?"

"It's just that my father wasn't the best man. Not to me at least. He though me a craven." Sam chuckled again.

"You? A craven?" Jorah laughed. "A man who faced greyscale for a stranger? A man who came all the way north to face the dead? I'm sorry, Samwell, but you're no craven."

"My father disliked everything I was and wanted me to be everything I wasn't. He wasn't half the man your father was."

Jorah laughed again, this time bitterly. "My father had his faults. We fought many times in my youth."

"Over what?" Sam asked.

"Over everything," Jorah told him. "I rejected his traditions and his gods. He forced me into a marriage I never wanted. Before my exile, he wanted me to take the black, join him on the Wall. Your friend Jon Snow carries my father's sword. He tried to give it back to me, but in truth, I didn't want it. There's a reason I left it behind when I fled to Essos. I didn't want to be my father."

"I don't want to be my father either," Sam said. "When I stole the sword from my father, I thought it was my birthright. I even left the Citadel and came all the way here over something he had said to me. I actually think I came here more for his honor than anything else. But recently, I've been thinking of what kind of father he was, and what kind of father I want to be."

"The wildling girl," Jorah asked. "That's your son?"

"It is," Sam lied. "And a second child is in her belly."

Jorah nodded. "Most men want to be their fathers. Few of them have the courage to be better than them." Jorah looked back down to Heartsbane. "I'll carry this sword to honor you, Samwell Tarly, the bravest man I know."

Sam nodded and turned to leave. Jorah took the blade out of the sheath entirely and marveled at how balanced the sword felt. The grip just right, the weight too. He gave it a few practice swings, and almost buried it into the belly of the Imp.

"Woah," said Tyrion, raising his hands in mock self-defense. "Don't gut me before the battle's even started."

Jorah sheathed the sword once more and bowed to Tyrion. "I'm sorry, my Lord Hand."

Tyrion waved him away. "You were talking with Samwell Tarly?" he asked the exiled knight. "You do know what happened in the Reach?"

"Aye," Jorah said grimly. "I heard what happened. When this battle is over, Daenerys, Samwell, and I will sit down together and fix this rift. He's a good man, and he will be a great ally in the wars to come."

"If there are wars to come," Tyrion said.

* * *

Jon stood on the walls of Winterfell, overseeing the battlements that were being put in place. Trenches were being dug, and barricades set. Ghost stood by his side. The direwolf had grown in the years that he Jon had had him. He was now twice the size of a large wolf. Ghost stuck out his tung as Jon rubbed his head.

When Sam came, Ghost ran to his side and waited for the fat boy to pet him. When he did, Ghost ran off.

"Sam," Jon grinned, clapping his friend on the shoulder. "How are you?"

Sam nodded. "I've just been to talk with Ser Jorah, and I've given him my father's sword. I bet it'll be more valuable in his hands than mine." He chuckled bitterly.

Jon laughed but didn't say anything.

"Look, Jon, I've been meaning to ask you," Sam said. "Wouldn't it be safer if Gilly and Little Sam were down by the boats?"

Jon sighed and looked back over the wall. "Sam," he said. "We need all the help we can get. Gilly's proven that she can take care of people, we'll need her help."

Sam sighed alongside his friend. "It's just… they're important."

"Everyone is important, Sam. If I let Gilly and Little Sam go, then everyone will want to go. Nobody will stay." When he saw the distressed look on Sam's face, he added, "The ships are only a days ride away. If we retreat, I'll see both Gilly and Little Sam safe. I promise you, they'll be okay. Come, we have to rest for what's coming."

* * *

In the Great Hall, a fire was burning, with only a few people sitting around it. They sat in silence, watching the flames lick at the wood beneath them. Each of them held a glass of wine, despite the fact that they would have to be ready to fight at moment's notice.

Tyrion and Jaime sat next to one another in the center of the semi-circle. Around them were Davos, Brienne, Podrick, Jon, and Tormund. Bran sat in the corner of the room by the fire, his eyes white from warging.

"It's strange, isn't it," Tyrion said, breaking the silence. "Everyone here has either fought the Starks at one time or another. And now we sit in their castle, ready to defend it. Together." He looked at Jon. "I mean no offense."

Jon smiled. "None taken."

"At least we'll die with honor," Brienne said. They all sat for another silent moment, gazing at the flames.

"I think we might live," Tyrion stated with a chuckle. A smile cracked on Davos' lips, and soon everyone was chuckling together. "I'm serious," he said. "How many battles have we survived between us." Tyrion turned to Davos. "Ser Davos Seaworth, a survivor of both the Blackwater and the Battle of the Bastards."

Davos raised his hands. "All without a shred of combat ability."

Tyrion turned to his brother. "Ser Jaime Lannister, fabled hero of the Siege of Pyke."

Jaime raised his hand to cut Tyrion off. "And the fabled loser of the Battle of the Whispering Wood."

"Here here," Tyrion said with a smile. "_Ser_ Brienne defeated the Hound in single combat." Brienne raised her own glass with a smile.

Tyrion turned to Jon. "Jon Snow, the fabled bastard of the North. Survivor of the Battle of the Bastards, and of the Battle for the Wall. It also might be worth noting that you were killed."

Tormund raised a horn of mare's milk. "For my people," he added with a gruff nod.

Jon smiled and clinked his glass with Tormund's horn. Both of them drank.

Tyrion moved onto his former squire, Podrick. "Podrick Payne. Survivor of the Blackwater, where he saved my life." Tyrion raised his glace to Pod, who raised his in return.

They sat in silence and watched as the flames grew ever lower. "We should get some rest," Jon said. "For what's coming."

Davos nodded in agreement. "Aye, and we're all out of wine."

"How about a song?" Tyrion suggested. "One of you must know one."

Everyone shook their heads. Tyrion had just gotten up to leave when Podrick started to sing, surprising them all.

"_High in the halls of the kings who are gone_

_Jenny would dance with her ghosts_

_The ones she had lost and the ones she had found_

_And the ones who had loved her the most_

_The ones who'd been gone for so very long_

_She couldn't remember their names_

_They spun her around on the damp old stones_

_Spun away all her sorrow and pain_

_And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave_

_Never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave_

_They danced through the day_

_And into the night through the snow that swept through the hall_

_From winter to summer then winter again_

_'Til the walls did crumble and fall_

_And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave_

_Never wanted…"_

When Podrick was finished, everyone was quiet. The flames in the fireplace had died, leaving only smoldering embers and charred wood. In the corner of the room, Bran's eyes changed from white to their normal brown.

"He's here," Bran said.

**A/N: Well that wraps up this chapter! Hope you guys enjoyed it. Just some notes, I wanted to change Brienne's knighting scene just because, and I think that was pretty good. Also, I just had to keep the original scene of Podrick singing, because it was probably one of my favorite scenes from that season, maybe the entire show. I added Jon because I felt like he should have been there, you know? Well, the next chapter should cover the battle for Winterfell, so stay tuned for that.**


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